


Friggin' Fangirls (And Other Hunters' Difficulties)

by IvyOnTheHolodeck



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 5+1 Things, Characters Reading Fanfiction, Characters Writing Fanfiction, Crack, Engineering, Everyone Ships Castiel/Dean Winchester, Fangirls, Fangirls are TERRIFYING, Fluff and Crack, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, M/M, Sam Ships It, Swing Dancing, Women Being Awesome, also women being ridiculous, because news flash women are HUMAN BEINGS AND THEREFORE COMPLICATED AND MULTIFACETED, brief Cinderella au, everyone ships it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-16
Updated: 2017-09-16
Packaged: 2018-12-30 01:57:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12098193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IvyOnTheHolodeck/pseuds/IvyOnTheHolodeck
Summary: If Dean ever finds Chuck Shurley, he's going to ram that man's keyboard where the sun doesn't shine.





	Friggin' Fangirls (And Other Hunters' Difficulties)

**Author's Note:**

> Regarding the fandom, to quote idiopathicsmile, I mock because I love, I promise. And let's be real, we can be quite the trip.
> 
> Set vaguely somewhere during seasons nine and ten. Warnings for canon-typical gendered slurs.

1.

Dean crashes through the house, tripping over a laundry basket and nearly impaling himself on his own machete. He grabs a counter for support, looking around wildly. The vamp yowls behind him, which means good, it's still coming. He has to lead it away from Pooja and her family. He wrenches the back door open. 

He can hear it gaining on him as he pounds through the yard. The grass is slippery under his feet. There, a shed. He kicks down the door and runs his hands over the walls, looking for a light switch. A chain whacks lightly against his forehead. He pulls it, and a single lightbulb brightens above. Cobwebs hang in the corners. Dean scans the room, searching for anything that might give him an advantage, but a hiss behind him tells him he's too late. He turns. The vamp's eyes glint from the doorway.

Dean bares his teeth. "Come and get it, Sparkles." 

The creature edges closer. Dean tightens his grip on the machete. Dammit, he could use Sam's help right now. The vampire grins, fangs curling over its gums.

A workbench bangs into Dean's back because of course Pooja's garage is too fucking cluttered to let him move, no wonder the vamp is smiling. "You're going to taste exquisite," the monster hisses. Dean just has enough time to think _kinky_ before it lunges and-

-howls, crashing to the floor and writhing in agony.

Pooja stands over it, a syringe slack in her hand. "I mean," she says, as if she's used to making conversation above dying abominations, "if you're Dean Winchester, it's probably not wrong." When he doesn't move, she gestures at the thrashing creature with the ruby-tipped needle. "Well? Aren't you going to kill it?"

The vamp's neck splits like rotten wood. He wipes his blade on a greasy rag and eyes the chick warily. "How-"

"Dead man's blood," she says, snagging his rag and wrapping it around the syringe before tossing the weapon in a box marked 'biohazard.' "My mom works at the hospital, wasn't that hard to get." She jerked her head toward the main building. "C'mon, your brother is still tied up, and god," she sighs, "that's basically the beginning of half the fics I read last week-"

"Hold up," Dean says, grabbing her shoulder. "If you're a hunter, then why didn't you say so earlier?"

"Geez, no." She pulls up her sleeve, revealing the angel banishment sigil. After a moment of cold terror, Dean realizes – incredulously – that it's just red pen. Pooja smiles at him. "Bio got boring while we were correcting papers, and I've read your books." She jerks out of his grasp.

The walk back to the main house is quiet, which gives Dean a chance to sort through the vamp's victims and determine that, no, this isn't like Idaho, this bastard was working alone. The night air reminds him of the chilly sweat that's making his shirt cling to his back. The motel shower is going to feel fantastic.

Pooja pipes up, "Dean?"

"Yeah?"

Her words come in a rush. "Can we talk about you and Castiel's UST because I swear to god my girlfriend and I were together for nine months before I realized we were dating but even _I_ can tell that you guys–"

"Nope," Dean says. "Nuh-uh. No. This conversation is not happening." Like any good soldier, he knows how to beat a hasty retreat.

~

2.

She smiles into his mouth, unlocking the door with the hand that isn't sliding beneath the hem of his jeans. They stumble into her hotel room, Dean kicking the door shut behind them. She twists away from him to pull her shirt over her head, taking her time with it, grinning at him. Dean's blood rushes south. She strips out of her jeans and beckons, and then they're on the bed.

"How do you like it, sweetheart?" Dean asks between kisses trailing down her throat.

"Whichever way you want to give it, Winchester," the chick – what was her name, Marissa? – murmurs, fingers doing something scandalous with the back of his neck.

He licks her collarbone in appreciation, then freezes. "How do you know that name?"

She frowns at him, their noses almost touching. "You've got the tattoo, and you said your name was-" The cloudy lust in her gaze gives way to shock. "You mean you're Dean Winchester, like, _the_ Dean Winchester?"

"The original flavor, baby."

Her head thunks back against the pillow in a distinctly unsexy way, and she groans. "Does this mean I'm gonna die? I haven't even finished my Master's yet. Although," she adds, cracking an eye open and squinting at him, "you're the other Winchester, so there's hope."

"You're a fan," Dean says, his stomach sinking. Maybe he's not getting laid tonight after all.

"I thought you were too!" Marissa says, sitting up and reaching for her shirt. He hands it to her, since he's a half-decent human being. "But that's the real deal, isn't it." Her fingers brush over the anti-possession tattoo on his chest.

"You'd think being a celebrity would convince beautiful women to throw themselves _at_ me," he grumbles. This is the second time since January. If he ever finds Chuck Shurley, he's going to ram that man's keyboard where the sun doesn't shine.

Marissa pats his cheek. "Trust me, sweetheart, I'd love to stay, but I couldn't bear to be the source of another book of sad angel face. My sisters would kill me."

"We're not dating," Dean says through gritted teeth. Regardless of any - attachment - he may have, the angel took about three days as a human to find a cuddly female lover. April did stab him the next day, but that's just how they roll. Besides, his interest in Cas is familial, right? Just like a brother - although that feels weird, maybe a third cousin he's really attached to and kind of has the hots for -

"I think you need to read your own books," Marissa calls from the doorway. She blows him a kiss, her gorgeous legs cloaked in denim. "Give that to Cas for me."

When Cas texts him later, saying that he doesn't understand how he could be 'cockblocking' Dean when they haven't seen each other in weeks, Dean doesn't bother to reply.

~

3.

Meixiu extracts another wire from the snarl. "If we plug in the micro-USB," she says as she fiddles with a knob, "that should do it."

Dean grunts from where he's finishing his sandwich. He still doesn't like that Sam brought a girl back to the bunker, even if she did save Dean from that prissy lightning goddess. Being almost electrocuted was bad enough - being almost electrocuted while Dianmu criticized his clothing was unacceptable. Sue him if he can't bother matching his socks - they all look the same anyway.

"It's loading!" Sam enthuses, grinning at his laptop like an idiot. "Three percent of files scanned. We'll have the entire bunker catalogued in no time."

"I'd be a lame EECS major if I couldn't save you from analog filing," the chick says, typing on her computer. "Anything else I can do for you guys?"

"You don't have to."

"You kept me from being blamed for killing my TA. I owe you one."

"She's got a point," Dean says with his mouth full. "We saved her ass."

Meixiu gives him a monumentally unimpressed look. "I saved _your_ ass, dumbass," she says before turning her back to him. "Sam, my roommate Leesha has this theory. Do you have magic wifi?"

Sam turns bright red.

Dean sits up straight. What the hell. "Anything you'd like to share with the class, Sammy?"

"I don't think it's magic, exactly," Sam hedges. He pulls something shiny out of his wallet and offers it to Meixiu. "I just have good luck finding free connections."

"Good luck, Sam, really? When have we ever had good luck?"

"Cas pulled me out of Hell."

"And left your soul behind!"

"This isn't magic," Meixiu announces, interrupting them. Her eyes shine with something like vicious glee. "This is subpar engineering. Typical Stanford."

She tosses the thing to Dean, ignoring Sam's yelp of protest. It's a thin gold charm shaped like a heart, with a grey chip inside. Dean's blood starts to boil. "You've been carrying a potential tracking device since Stanford?"

"I didn't know it opened!"

"It's a prototype," Meixiu says. "Some engineer must think you're cute."

"Nothing Jess made was subpar," says Sam. His hands dwarf the charm when he reclaims it.

Dean makes a face, ignoring the alarm bells going off in his head. Red fucking alert, Jessica Moore has entered the conversation, take cover to escape the puppy dog eyes. "Wasn't she a nurse?"

Sam rolls his eyes so hard Dean expects them to do a three-sixty in his head. "She wore a nurse's costume at a _Halloween party_ , Dean."

"Given how old the design is, it's not too bad," Meixiu allows. "But I can do better. My sophomore year research lab was working on these. Give me three hours and your phones."

When they drop her off in Berkeley, Dean has to admit the chick knows her stuff. His phone hasn't dropped below four bars the entire ride. Meixiu shakes his hand and gives Sam a hug. "Good luck. I'm hella glad you two showed up."

Sam grins. "I haven't heard somebody say 'hella' in a long time."

She shoulders her backpack and smirks. "By the way, Dean? Payback for the hippie comment." She waves and runs off before he can ask what she means.

He finds out when 'Red Five' calls him that night. Charlie's delighted with the nickname, though she says she likes Leia better. Dean decides to leave it. It's not like he gets calls from contacts on his phone that often, and some of Meixiu's names are pretty funny.

Which is fine until Dean's phone vibrates on the bedside table at a motel, and Sam's closer to it than he is. Sam picks it up, raises his eyebrows at whatever he sees, and says, "It's Cas."

Dean's head snaps up. Sam throws him the phone, and he presses it to his ear, heart beating a little faster than usual. "Cas, buddy, hey-"

"Cas?" says the voice on the phone. "Who's Cas?"

Dean frowns. "Aaron?"

"Yeah, it's me. Look, I had a question-"

"Just a sec," Dean says, pulling the phone away from his face to look at the screen.

 _Dean's Gay Thing Calling._ He imagines Meixiu grinning at him.

"Goddamnit, Sam!"

~

4.

The ceiling soars high above them, gilt fleurs-de-lis curling across the white arches. A sea of masked courtiers swirls across the marble floor below. Their steps are timed as beautifully as if they were figurines on a music box, like that cursed one back in Oklahoma. It's creepy.

Is that _Charlie_ on the brunette's arm?

Strains of jazz float up to meet him, their notes soporific, encouraging him to stop wondering and just go with it. His face feels heavy. When he reaches up, his fingers find cloth stretched over - he fingers the inside of the mask - reeds?

"Second thoughts?" Sam asks, coming up behind him. "Still think the feathers suited you better. Brought out the color of your eyes."

"Fuck you," Dean says automatically. Sam's tuxedo sleeves end several inches above his wrists. "At least my clothes fit, Samsquatch."

"Rub it in," Sam mutters, looking out over the crowd. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows. "You see her?"

"She'll be in the throne room, dumbass," says Dean. He elbows Sam and smirks. "Go get 'em, tiger."

The bitchface is harder to see under Sam's mask, the red horns curling over the top of his mane. With a start, Dean realizes Sam's tied back his hair in a ponytail. He must really be gone on the crown chick. Sam throws back his shoulders - and fuck him, Dean's the older brother, he's supposed to be the tall one - and descends the stairs.

Dean flinches when an old guy blows a trumpet in his ear. "Man-"

"Announcing Sir Luke of Lawrence!" the old guy bellows. He gives Dean the fish-eye.

"Fine," Dean mutters and stomps down the stairs as Baldy yells, "And his brother, Sir Michael of Lawrence!" How the hell did Sam talk him into this. Dean belongs in a smithy like the commoner he is. He makes swords, dammit, not small talk.

Servants carry plates of snacks around the edge of the dance floor, where groups of nobles dally, so the evening isn't a complete bust. Dean winks at the girl carrying a platter of fried chicken and snags the entire thing, sketching a bow at her when she scolds him. Sequestering himself in a recess behind a tapestry, he hunkers down and gets to work stuffing his face. He's almost done when the fabric is torn back, and two giggling figures tumble in, the skirts of one mashing against Dean's face. Oh, for fuck's sake. Loud smacking noises come from above, neither of the lovers having noticed him yet. Dean swallows the chicken in his mouth, because no way he's going into this looking like a chipmunk. He clears his throat.

The girl shrieks, leaping away from him, and manages to knock over her partner in the process. They sprawl out into the main room. Dean sighs. Now Sam's going to give him shit about arranging a threesome at the ball. Better to get out of here while he can. "Ladies," he says by way of parting. Jo sticks her tongue out at him, seeing through his disguise. Fan-fucking-tastic.

Now what? He could go talk weapons with the guards, but people might notice. The things he does to help his brother get laid.

A man steps in front of him, blue eyes glowing out of a black feathered mask.

Dean gulps. Shit.

"Sir Michael," says Lord Castiel of Eden, glaring at him. "I didn't expect to see you here again."

"Your excellency," Dean says, grateful yet again that Castiel has only seen his face smeared in soot from the forge. "Can't keep me away."

The last notes of the current song fade away to polite applause. Castiel inclines his head toward the dance floor. "Would you join me?"

Dean raises an eyebrow. "Two dances in two nights? I must be your favorite."

"Don't flatter yourself," Castiel hisses, seizing his hand and dragging him. Dean doesn't struggle. He's a better dancer than Castiel, thanks to Jo's insistence that he practice with her in exchange for sword-fighting lessons. Here, Dean has the advantage.

He takes Castiel's hand and wraps an arm around his waist. They step in time to the music, though Lord Castiel moves like a paralyzed goose. Dean grins beneath his mask. "How's the princess?" he asks as he curls out and back into Castiel's grip, letting the man have the illusion of control. "Enjoying her party?"

"As if you didn't know," says Castiel, glowering as Dean spins under his arm. "Being chatted up by your brother Luke, who still refuses to reveal himself."

"He's got a face only Mom could love," Dean says. He winces as Castiel steps on his toes, possibly on purpose. "A little fugly."

"I don't know what that means."

"Ask Luke," says Dean. Oh, to see the look on Sam's face.

They're holding both hands, now, so Castiel takes the opportunity to pin Dean with his most intense stare. "I will figure out who you are," he growls, "and stop whatever you're planning to do to Jessica."

Dean snorts. "The princess can take care of herself." They skip side-by-side. Dean kicks Castiel's ankle, not even trying to make it look like an accident.

Cas flinches and glares at him in silence for the rest of the dance. They bow to each other as the music fades out, Dean's hands lingering longer than necessary, but hey, here he can do that. No smoke or grime to remind him just how far below _Lord_ Castiel he is. It would be easier if Castiel didn't order so many goddamn swords.

Something changes in Castiel's expression. His gaze flickers down for a moment, and a small smile forms on his lips. Not the genuine grin Dean's seen once or twice, but a start. "If you wish to parley, I'll be in the Turquoise Room on the third floor in five minutes." Then he's gone.

Dean frowns, ignoring the powdered wigs jostling him. Stupid nobles. What could Castiel want to say to him that he couldn't just now? He heads for the stairs -

"No, don't!" A figure jumps into his path, her arms flying out to bar his way. "Oh my god, no, don't go there, don't keep that appointment, you'll regret it, or you will later, oh my god I'm so sorry-"

She's in a tight shirt and blue breeches, which even Dean can tell doesn't fit the dress code. People give her scandalized looks. "Not your business," Dean says, trying to push past her, but she latches onto his arm like a limpet, still babbling. Dean offers the gawking crowd a fuck-you smile and pulls the girl off to the side. "What do you want?"

"I'm so sorry," the girl repeats, close to tears, "I'm so sorry. You can't be here, this isn't real, the anachronisms are everywhere. The jazz, why did I say they were playing jazz, this is set in nineteenth century Europe, I'm being more culturally appropriative than La La Land-" She's off her rocker. Dean turns to go. "No, wait!" the chick yelps. "It's a bedroom, he's invited you to a bedroom."

Dean freezes. "Excuse me?"

"This is the first seduction scene, and you're not even going to take off your mask, so he doesn't recognize you, because the audience is supposed to suspend their disbelief because identity porn is like that," she says in one breath. "And then he'll feel guilty because he's compensating for the fact that real you, the one in the armory, is off-limits thanks to class distinctions and plus he thinks you're married because he misheard something Henry said to Jess at one point."

" _What?_ "

"This is a Cinderella story. It's fanfiction, Dean. My fanfiction. My first explicit fanfiction, so you really don't want to keep that appointment, the sex isn't well-written and I'm only on the first draft."

"How do you know my name?"

"I wrote this based on the Supernatural books that Shurley keeps posting, and then the story came to life." She pauses. "Does that make me a prophet?"

"Shurley," Dean says distantly. "Chuck Shurley." It all comes rushing back. "Son of a bitch."

"Knew you would say that," the chick says. "I'm Kaitlyn. What do we do?"

Later, after they've stabbed Baldy, who turns out to be a mirror spirit, Dean's relieved to learn that Sam remembers nothing. Kid deserves better than having to deal with grieving for Jess again. Dean's finding it hard enough to handle Jo's reappearance.

Cas texts that no, nothing strange happened yesterday, why?

Kaitlyn promises she'll find a different relationship to write about. One of the options on her brainstorming list, which she narrates as she shows him out, is Sam-slash-Jess- _slash-Gabriel_. Dean spends the rest of the night working to erase that particular image from his memory.

~

5.

Dean's just getting back in the Impala when his phone buzzes.

_Text from Groot: help please_

The 'please' gives Dean pause. Sam doesn't usually hold with niceties when fighting not to die. Complications with the questioning, then? He'd thought Sam could handle a single sixteen-year-old.

Dean speeds back to the house from the police station. He lets himself in through the open front door, pulling out his pistol when he hears hysterical sobbing. Shit, fuck -

Then he bursts into the living room. His arms drop as he takes in the scene. A chuckle bubbles up inside him. Never mind worrying about Sam's health, Dean's the one going to bust a rib trying not to laugh. "Dude, what happened to you?"

Sam shifts uncomfortably, but the chick just clutches his arm tighter, bawling into his shirt. "I'm not sure, I just said my name was Winchester and she flipped out." He jerks his head at the plaid plush blanket swaddling him. "This was not my idea."

Dean chokes down a snicker and says with as straight a face as he can manage, "Must be another fan. You do look cute all bundled up."

It's for the best that Sam can't kill with a look anymore.

"D-Dean?" the girl says, pulling her face away from Sam's damp shoulder and swiping at her puffy eyes. "Ohmigod Dean my poor sweet bi baby I can't-"

Dean's getting tired of running from teenage girls.

~

+1

Dean's drying off when he hears the whoosh of displaced air and freezes. Seriously, now? He's in a towel, for god's sake.

"Sam, would you excuse us," Cas says. His tone doesn't make it a question.

Sam, the traitor, agrees. "I'll be at the library if you guys need me. I've got my phone. Bye. Goodbye. I said goodbye, Castiel. God, why do I bother, we all know he's here for-" A door slams, and Sam's muttering cuts off.

Deep breaths, Winchester. Dean wraps the towel around his waist and walks into the motel room.

Castiel stands in front of his bed, contemplating it like it's a Sudoku puzzle in French. Only Cas probably knows French, and isn't Sudoku for numbers anyway -

"Dean."

"Hey, Cas." Dean sets his jaw, determined not to blush under the fucking intensity of that gaze. Feigning nonchalance like his life depends on it - and it does, on a weekly basis, why is he letting one idiot angel phase him - he pulls a shirt and jeans out of his bag. "If you don't mind, I'm going to just put on some-" Suddenly he's got an angel in his face. Dean swallows, heart thumping. Fuck. "Guess you do mind, then."

"Dean. I have been receiving a number of perplexing prayers recently. From a growing group of young women referring to themselves as 'fangirls.'"

Dean wants to bang his head on a wall for the next, say, decade or so, or however long it takes him to get killed again. Which will be less than a year, if history is anything to go by. He swallows past the dryness in his throat and croaks, "Oh?"

"They encourage me to offer you comfort, particularly in the form of coitus. A few have developed nightly mantras."

Dean wants to sink through the floor. How can this be happening. "Girls have weird priorities, man," he says with a weak chuckle. He's still wearing a towel.

"Would such comfort be welcome?" Cas tilts his head. "Given your predilection toward the female form, I had assumed not, but if so I offer it freely."

What. Dean reels. What the fuck. What the _fuck_. "Run that by me again?" Has he been sucked into another alternate reality? If anyone bursts in here babbling about plot bunnies, he's going to lose it.

But holy shit, Cas is blushing. "You are aware of our bond, Dean. I swore myself to you, body and spirit, years ago. I believe the human equivalent is called 'devotion' or 'ardor.'"

"You're saying you're in love with me."

"Dean, a bond goes two ways. We are in love with each other. So I repeat - would you like to engage in sexual intercourse?"

And that? That was the sound of Dean's brain melting. "Um. Yeah. I mean - yeah, I would like - fuck it." He grabs Castiel by the trenchcoat and crushes their mouths together.

Much later, when Dean's got one arm wrapped around his angel's waist, feeling the slow rise and fall of his chest in slumber, he reflects. Fangirls do have their uses after all. And maybe he should try learning to swing dance.

He's still going to kick Chuck Shurley's ass between his ears.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr at ivyontheholodeck. Come say hi! :)


End file.
